SEVILLIAN SKETCH The sun leaves violet rings under the eaves of the houses, withers the skin of shirts left hanged in the middle of the street. Windows with the lips and breath of a woman! Dogs with ballerina hips pass by. Chulos in pants glistening with shoeshine. Nags that will lose their entrails in the … More readings: Oliverio Girondo (two)
Earlier this week, The Quarterly Conversation published a piece I wrote about Juan José Saer (whose Scars, published in Steve Dolph’s translation by Open Letter Books, was nominated for a Best Translated Book Award this year), in which I mention a few barbs the author directed at the likes of Nabokov and Mario Vargas Llosa. … More readings: Saer on Robert Walser
“Faced with the alternative between becoming translators or alcoholic bums, some at least favored the first option.” . . . From Varamo by César Aira trans. Chris Andrews
YOU CAN JOIN YOUR HANDS The people say: Dust, Celestial, Sepulchral, and are left calm, mollified, satisfied. But listen to this cricket, to the soft rain of night, of a lunatic existence. Now is the time for it to sing. Now and not tomorrow. Right now. Here. At our side… as if there were nowhere … More readings: Oliverio Girondo
Heather Cleary 